An Atypical Anthology
by Agent Silent G
Summary: Various obscure characters perform unusual songs in the bid to win the ultimate mystery grand prize on everyone's new favourite show, 'Finding America's Real Talent! Think you can handle the sheer craziness? ...Honestly, it's REALLY crazy. You probably shouldn't click this. Probably.


**Really? You still want to see this? **

**Well, ok. But remember: you were warned. **

* * *

"Welcome to Finding America's Real Talent!"

The enthusiastic host was beaming at the cameras and at the huge live audience as the latter erupted into cheers.

"I'm your host, Phil, and we're coming at you today from Danville in the Tri-State Area for our special open-mic night, where ordinary citizens come up and perform their hearts out. They'll be competing for today's ultimate mystery grand prize of unimaginable awesomeness: what it is, nobody can guess! But if they can't impress our three judges, then they go home having invoked a terrible curse of shame upon themselves and their entire families for generations to come..."

His appearance became ominous for a moment, before he returned to his usual beaming self. "Let's hope we don't have any of that today, folks! So let's meet our wonderful judges!

"First of all, we have the one and only leader of Danville, and two-time winner of 'Mayor of the Year', Mayor Roger Doofenshmirtz!"

The politician stood up at his seat as he received the crowd's cheers and whistles with a gracious smile and wave.

"Next, we have the master of bass guitar, hair and fashion, the bass player from Love Handel, Bobbi Fabulous!"

"Thank you!" Bobbi said, waving, also to a roaring crowd. "Although Phil, that orange shirt of yours? _Hideous._"

"Haha, what a kidder you are, Bobbi," the host said, his beaming smile never faltering. "And finally, we have a superior commanding officer from the top-secret Organization Without a Cool Acronym, Major Francis Monogram!"

"I told you to leave out my first name," Monogram mumbled, crossing his arms sulkily in his spot, but the crowd cheered him anyway.

"What a great line-up of judges. We've got some great acts, too, so let's get straight into Finding America's Real Talent!

"...Right after this commercial break."

* * *

"And we're back!" Phil exclaimed, beaming as usual. "Although if you're reading this instead of watching it, then we never left. Anyway, let's get straight into it. Our first act today is Marty the Rabbit Boy!"

Smoke billowed dramatically from unseen pipes and chords were played dramatically in the background as Marty walked very un-dramatically onto the stage. "Hey," he said, and the audience cheered. Back-up singers and dancers snuck onto the stage around Marty, who was clutching his microphone nervously.

"Alright, take it away!"

And the song began, to the tune of Real Boy (originally by Norm):

_Background Singers: He wants to be a normal dude (he wants to be a normal dude)_  
_Background Singers: He wants to be a normal dude (normal dude, yeah)_  
_I'm just a freaky teen_  
_a genetic oddity_  
_a guy out of place_  
_in the lonely city_  
_Background Singers: His simple desire has simmered and stewed,_  
_Background Singers: He wants to be a normal dude!_  
_I wanna be a normal dude (yeah!)_  
_I hate my rabbity mood_  
_I can't bear to choose carrot juice_  
_what I really need is human foods!_  
_Background Singers: like meat, to eat with some human teeth_  
_and I got two pointy ears that defy belief!_  
_If I was normal I'd attract the opposite gender_  
_and they'd appreciate my skills with a musical blender_  
_I want a head (a head!) one that I don't regret_  
_so that I don't have a PnF silhouette_  
_One that gets me less odd looks and more invites to the party_  
_So I can make friends that ask me "how ya doin' Marty?"_  
_Background Singers: How ya doin' Marty?_  
_Well not too bad I guess_  
_Don't want to be a rabbit boy but, eh, I digress_  
_Thanks for listening!_

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistling. Marty gave a shy smile as Phil the host sidled up next to him and put an arm around him.

"What a great kid and a great song! Now let's hear what our judges think!"

"I think it was an excellent performance," Roger said. "It's clearly a great metaphor for the struggles we all go through to be normal, or what we think to be normal, as we go about our daily lives."

"Great job, Marty," Bobbi said. "And that purple shirt goes great with your skin tone!"

"That was totally hip and rad," Monogram said. "I'm sure that all the cool teens will agree that the song was totally tubular!"

"Glowing responses from the judges!" Phil said, beaming. "Give it up for Marty the Rabbit boy, everybody!"

The audience gave a final cheer for him as he left the stage, waving happily.

* * *

"Our next act is the Crazy Old Coot, whose actual name is, er, 'Crazy Old Coot'. Weird."

"Yup! The Coots are a proud family, and I was named after my grandpappy," the Old Coot rambled, in a senile fashion.

"Oh? And what was his name?"

"James. But he was crazier than a bucket with holes in the bottom!"

The audience cheered as the F Games music started up:

_Na-na na-na na_  
_Na-na na-na na_  
_Na-na na-na na, na na na na-na_

_Na-na na-na na_  
_Na-na na-na na_  
_Na-na na-na na, na na na na-na_

_Don't wanna hear no back talk!_  
_You keep any silver that you find_  
_Same goes for any precious rocks_  
_But if you see any gold you know it's mine_  
_Get excavatin'_  
_Or I'm beratin' you!_  
_Gimme the gold! Gimme the gold you find!_  
_Don't care about the whole loot_  
_Gimme the gold! Gimme the gold you find!_  
_'Cause I'm the crazy old coot!_

There was a stunned silence as the song ended abruptly and dramatically at the final word. Then everyone erupted in cheers.

"Let's go straight to the judges on this one," Phil said, gesturing towards Roger.

"Well, that was an... unexpected... style of song," the mayor said. "It was an excellent metaphor for the single-minded determination that we all need when we aim for our goals, of course."

"Yes, unexpected," Bobbi agreed. "And those overalls are so 30's. Were they in fashion when you were born?"

"That reminds me of a song I heard back at... the academy..." Monogram stared wistfully into the distance.

"Thank you, Crazy Old Coot! Give him a big hand, everyone!"

But he didn't move. He merely squinted at everyone in the audience. "You know, this place was built on an ancient indian burial ground," he whispered into the microphone.

"No it isn't," Phil said cheerfully, as security came to drag the crazy old man off the stage.

"Oh. Well, if you see any gold, it's mine!" he shouted, as he disappeared from view.

The audience cheered.

* * *

"Next is Dr. Lloyd Wexler, reading from his introduction to the limited-edition version of his autobiography, 'Inside an Evil Mind'."

Monogram sat up as if electrified, his eyes widening as the name was read out and the veteran evil scientist walked confidently onto the stage. Dr. Wexler cleared his throat and the crowd cheered. He began immediately, reading the poetic excerpt in his distinctive measured voice:

_Upon an evil winter's heart, the heavy hand of regret infrequently alights. The malevolent path is one trod without the cumbersome shackles of sentimental introspection._  
_One discovers the art of indulging in contentious iniquitous delights, while avoiding the wrath of uncertainty and lamentation's gross intersection._  
_And an art it indeed is; its subtleties must be acknowledged, its lax and negligent practitioners admonished.__For a life filled with art must be of an unquestionable elegance, and what greater art is there than a ransom note of unspeakable malevolence?_

_But one must take heed, for evil is a mistress of most particular taste. She promises tremendous rewards for faithful service, but the fee to take the tumultuous fledgling step into her domain is your full unwavering pursuit of her kiss. She demands you pay in haste the entirety of your unblackened soul, a part of your very being that, once sacrificed, is lost forever._  
_Are you prepared? Excellent. Let us begin the wondrous journey together._

He ended with open arms outstretched to the audience, as if inviting them onto the journey of evil. The audience cheered him, and Monogram began to look around worriedly, nervously whispering things into a wrist communicator.

"What a fascinating piece! Judges?"

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Roger mused. "It was, of course, a metaphor for the hopes and dreams we all have that are considered 'evil' to indulge and pursue by society. Fascinating."

"Actually, that's not quite accurate-" Dr. Lloyd Wexler made to correct him, but he was cut off by Bobbi.

"Ok ok, I'm just going to say what we're all thinking. That thing made no sense. I'm still looking up half the words. Literally, half the words. You're rocking the evil scientist look, though, man."

"And of course it is just a look," Monogram added nervously, clearly sweating profusely. "I hope nobody is seriously considering treading the dark and fruitless path of evil after hearing that piece, and that nobody really believes this man is an 'evil scientist'!"

At that point, a chicken and a frog, both wearing dashing fedoras, chased Dr. Lloyd Wexler off the stage.

The audience cheered.

* * *

"And our final act for you today is a couples act, by the farmer and his wife!"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" the wife asked, as they were ushered onto the stage and given two mics by some stage hands.

"Don't worry, dear," the farmer said reassuringly.

"Ok ok..." she breathed in and out deeply, composing herself. "Now, where's the duet we're doing?"

He shrugged. A moment later, it sunk in, and the wife began to shake uncontrollably.

"_So we've not got anything prepared...? __What did you think, something would fall from the sky? That we would not have to try, we could just get by?_  
_You're a dope! I'm at the end of my rope! You change ideas on the fly and never tell me why_  
_I can't cope! I always say nope, But whether it's ties or mince pies or office supplies, what a surprise! There it lies_  
_I've lost hope! When we eloped, I didn't realise you lived under magic skies in the guise of a normal guy!_  
_Just... some warning would be nice. You hear?_"

"Wow, what a great little rap!" Phil exclaimed, beaming as he appeared next to the still fuming wife. Her face fell as she realised the irony of what had just happened, her expression one of utter 'I am so done with all of this craziness'-ness.

"Fantastic!" Roger too exclaimed. "I don't even believe there's a metaphor here!"

"Excellent!" Bobbi exclaimed, framing the two in a square of his fingers. "Yes, you have the perfect couples look too!"

"Sensational!" Monogram exclaimed. "If I had been wearing socks, I'm sure they'd have been blown right off!"

"Great! Well, it sounds like we have a winner! You two win the ultimate mystery grand prize of unimaginable awesomeness: a new car!"

Everyone oohed and ahhed at the sight of the new vehicle, and a round of applause started for the lucky couple that had won it.

"Really?" Bobbi said in disbelief. "The ultimate mystery prize of unimaginable awesomeness is just a plain, boring car? Nobody is questioning this?"

The wife turned to her husband. "Is that why you sold our old car before we got here?"

He nodded, and she gave a sigh of a dull acceptance. "Alright," she said. "But you're driving us home."

For the final time, a beaming Phil turned to the cameras and audience. "Well, that's the show, thanks for tuning in to this week's episode of Finding America's Real Talent! You've been a great audience, goodnight!"

The audience cheered.


End file.
